


Breaking the Rules

by Chericola



Category: Charlie Bone Series | Children of the Red King - Jenny Nimmo
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 16:32:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1864722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chericola/pseuds/Chericola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was a husband, a friend, a father and a son, and though he was now lost, he would never be forgotten. A look at the events surrounding Lyell Bone's disappearance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking the Rules

Manfred's eyes were like black coals, utterly fathomless and deep. They seared like wildfire into Lyell's brain, chilling his body and fogging his mind. He could feel those eyes clamp onto him, sucking away his will until there was none left.

With a moan, he fell to his knees, hands pressed against his eyes. Thoughts swirled in his mind, of the people who loved him and were counting on him. Rufus. Paton. Charlie. Amy. Most of all, Amy. He could see her in his mind's eye, dancing joyfully in the kitchen of Diamond Corner while fast, exhilarating music drifted in from the adjoining room. He could see her watching him with amusement as he sat on the piano stool with little Charlie peering up at him, pointing to the keys he knew so well. C, B, D minor, E, F. He could feel the suppleness of her body as he held her in his arms and pressed a kiss to her lips, and could hear her musical laughter when he crawled around the house with Charlie, pretending to chase him while the toddler shrieked with delight, trapping him in a hug at the end. He loved Amy—and Charlie—so much it hurt. He didn't know what he would do without them.

He desperately wanted, needed, to see her now. He wanted to run his fingers through her curtain of golden-brown hair and hold her and never let her go. He wanted to see her grave blue eyes and heart-shaped face, wanted to tell her that everything would be all right, and hear her say the same thing. He wanted to tell her that he loved her. He didn't want to feel the desolation building in his heart at the knowledge that he was about to lose her forever, both her and Charlie.

One by one, they all slipped away: Amy, Charlie, everything. All his precious memories. They faded away, leaving him with nothing but emptiness. And in the final moments before he was swept under, all he could think was, I love you. Take care of Charlie for me.

And then there was nothing, nothing but darkness.

oOoOo

Amy was in the kitchen of Diamond Corner putting away the groceries she had brought from the green grocer's when Lyell returned. Relief flooded through her as she heard the front door slam and saw Lyell enter. It had been almost an hour since his shift at the cathedral ended, and she had begun to worry. It only took a quarter of an hour to walk from Cathedral Close to Diamond Corner, after all.

She looked up and gave him a welcoming smile, as she always did when he came home.

Her smile faded when Lyell only brushed past her without meeting her eyes. Lyell always pecked her on the cheek when he came home, or just returned her smile. He never just ignored her. What was wrong? Concern rose in Amy. She dropped the lettuce she had been holding and followed him into the sitting room.

She found him sitting at the piano, gazing at the black and white piano keys with a strange, far away expression on his face. He didn't seem to hear her approach, or didn't bother responding to it.

Amy hesitated before speaking. In truth, the look in his eyes terrified her. 'Lyell, are you okay?'

'I'm fine,' Lyell said, without looking at her. There was something about his voice that made chills run down Amy's spine. It was flat and dismissive, so unlike his usual lively tone. It was almost as if he were talking to a stranger. But that was ridiculous. She was his wife, and he loved her.

She tried again, and willed him to answer. 'Lyell, what's wrong? Did something happen at the cathedral?'

This time she received no reply at all. Lyell just let his fingers float over the piano keys, creating a hauntingly beautiful melody that echoed around the room. He never even looked at her.

Amy retreated into the kitchen, her heart hammering. This wasn't the man she had fallen in love with. Lyell had never before been so dismissive towards her, his own wife. He had never before chosen to ignore her, as if she were a total stranger and not worth his time. What was wrong with him? Amy blinked back tears of confusion and began to prepare a meal for them to eat for lunch. Maybe he's just stressed, she thought desperately. Maybe he's angry at me for some reason. But why would he just ignore her? It didn't make sense!

She concentrated on her task, and tried to chase away the terrible, anxious thoughts that were eating at her. He will get better as the day goes on, she told herself firmly. It's nothing. It can't mean anything.

They ate lunch in a heavy, tense silence. Lyell did not speak or look at Amy, much to Amy's dismay. She chatted about mundane things such as the weather, her work at the green grocer's and her mother's new favorite television series which Amy disliked because of its corny plot-line, hoping to get a reaction from Lyell. But it was no use. No matter how much she tried, he refused to speak to her, and concentrated on eating.

Amy was relieved when she heard Charlie awaken from his nap and begin to bawl. She practically ran from the kitchen to the room where his crib was kept, ready to soothe her infant son. Amy drew him from the crib and clutched him to her chest, against her bewildered, hammering heart, and listened as his sobs died down. She drew comfort from her son's warm weight and gently pressed a kiss to his layer of unkempt dark hair. Everything will be okay,' she whispered over and over again, and she wasn't sure if she was talking to herself or her son.

oOoOo

Amy would never forget that night for as long as she lived. It was glued into her mind fast, as if it were an elaborate painting. She couldn't forget it if she tried. Sometimes she wondered if she could have prevented what occurred that night, if she could have convinced Lyell not to drive in such weather. Possibly, if she had been more assertive, she might have. She would never know for sure.

It began in the evening. As they were both sitting down to eat dinner, the phone rang shrilly, breaking the heavy silence at the dinner table. Amy jumped at the sound, but Lyell never flinched. He answered the phone after the fifth ring, much to Amy's relief. He listened without a word before abruptly hanging up. For a moment, he stared at the phone, a strange look on his face. 'My mother is ill,' he said after a long moment of silence. 'She wants to see me.'

'Will you go?' Amy asked him quietly. Lyell had not been on speaking terms with his mother for years, ever since he had gone against his family's wishes and married her, one of the unendowed. Would Lyell refuse to see his own mother, even if she were on her death bed?

He looked up, and his expression was unreadable. 'Of course,' he said. 'She is my mother. If she is dying I must see her.' Amy shivered at the unnatural flatness of his voice. It was as if another person had returned from the cathedral that day. He seemed almost lifeless, silent and dazed. He had barely looked at Amy all day, and had not stopped to play with Charlie like he usually did. Her stomach knotted just thinking about it. What was wrong with her husband?

To hide the anxiety that surely must be plain on her face, she looked away, and caught sight of the street outside. During the day, a mist had slivered into the air, thickening until it became like a white cloud blanketing the sky. Now she could barely see the houses on the other side of the street.

'It's foggy tonight,' Amy murmured. A frown knitted her brow. Why would Lyell decide to go out in such weather?

'It doesn't matter. I have to go,' Lyell said. There was a stubborn note to his voice that Amy knew all too well.

Amy nodded, accepting the inevitable. There would be no reasoning with him when he was like this. Despite his strange behaviour throughout that day, Amy had to smile; in truth she was relieved to see one thing about Lyell that hadn't changed after his return from the cathedral. It restored some of her peace of mind. Maybe everything would be all right after all, she thought hopefully.

She watched as Lyell stood and turned to leave, his face an expressionless mask. He did not even glance at her, she noted with some sadness. Perhaps his mother and aunts had finally convinced him that an unendowed girl like her was unworthy of his attention. Perhaps finally, he had fallen out of love with her. It would not be surprising, she told herself. She was, after all, ordinary, with no important bloodline the Yewbeams admired.

Almost immediately remorse churned within her. How could she think such things of Lyell? In all the time she had known him, he had never given her cause to believe he was cheating on her. Lyell loved her, had always loved her. He had defied his entire family to elope to Mexico with her! If that wasn't proof of his love, what was? And yet, Amy couldn't rid herself of her unease. It was as if everything was turned upside down and in disarray. Nothing felt right any more, least of all herself.

As Lyell reached the door, her stomach twisted, and suddenly she was beset with an irrational fear, as if this was the last time she would ever see his face again. All of a sudden, she wanted, needed to hear the three words that he had neglected to say all day. She needed to see him look at her like he had always done, with tenderness and love. She needed it like she needed water.

'I love you, Lyell.' The words came out before she could stop them, soft and hesitant.

Lyell paused, and Amy saw his entire body stiffen. From what, she could not tell. He slowly turned to face her, a puzzled frown on his face. A myriad of emotions flitted through his eyes. Anger. Confusion. Frustration. And, surprisingly, a trace of fear.

'Nothing will change that,' Amy said steadily. Her throat tightened with the tears she couldn't, wouldn't, set free.

For a fraction of a second, his face softened. 'I love you too, Amy,' he said gently.

Her heart leapt to hear the love in his voice. This was the Lyell she loved and remembered.

And then he frowned, shaking his head as if to clear his mind. Confusion sprang onto his face, painful and frightening all at once. He seemed so lost and alone that Amy's heart ached. She longed to comfort him, but wasn't sure how.

'I must go now,' he said flatly, turning away from her.

Without another word, he strode out of the house, leaving Amy standing frozen in the middle of the kitchen staring after him.

oOoOo

Tyres screeched wildly on the swerving country road. Fog hovered in the air like a curse, white and stifling, obscuring his vision to the pavement directly in front of him. Words pounded into his brain over and over again like a mantra. Your mother is ill. Go to her immediately. Drive, as fast as you can.

As if it had its own free will, his hands swerved on the steering wheel, his feet pressed down on the acceleration. As the car flew faster and faster over the pavement, he couldn't feel any alarm or dread. All he could think of was cold, cold dark pools of eyes and the voice beating in his mind to the sound of his hammering heart.

He didn't see the quarry coming closer and closer, dangerously close. A violent jolt rocked the car, and he found himself being dragged away and out. He knelt by the edge of a deep pit of lake, surrounded by greenery and the rustling of the trees. He watched the car he had just been in plunge into the abyss, and waited for the inevitable splash.

oOoOo

Paton Yewbeam was startled awake by the sound of a telephone ringing again and again. As he regained his senses, he found himself lying amid the papers scattered on his couch, in complete darkness. Ye gods! He must have fallen asleep somehow. He hadn't thought he would; the papers and articles he had been sifting through were fascinating, a trove of treasures about the history of his family, the Yewbeams. They would be perfect for the book he was writing.

Hauling himself to his feet, he relit the candles that had blown themselves out and squinted at the analogue clock hanging on his wall. He couldn't help but chuckle. It was close to midnight—no wonder he had fallen asleep! He had been at it for hours.

It was then that he noticed the ongoing noise. Frowning, he dug his phone out from among the papers on his desk and picked up the receiver. Who could be calling him at this time? Most people he knew were fast asleep by now. Only his sisters would bother calling him in the middle of the night, just to annoy him.

'Paton?' A woman's voice, timid and tight with worry, answered. It took a moment for Paton to identify her as Amy Bone, Lyell's wife. Irritation flared briefly. What on earth would possess Amy Bone to call him at this ungodly hour?

'What is it?' He couldn't quite keep his annoyance from his voice.

Amy faltered slightly. 'Have you seen Lyell?'

'No,' and Paton frowned. He hadn't seen or heard from Lyell since that morning, when… He almost groaned aloud, then. He had promised Lyell he would meet him at the cathedral at midday. It had slipped clear from his mind. How stupid of him!

'Oh,' and Paton heard Amy give a despairing sigh. 'I was afraid so.'

Concern rose in Paton like a tide, along with curiosity. 'Why? What's wrong?'

'Lyell went to visit his mother early this evening,' Amy said. 'It was like a summons, really. His mother was gravely ill and she wanted to see him.'

Paton was suddenly filled with a terrible sense of unease. It was dangerous out on the roads, during a fog as thick as this one. It had begun at just after four in the afternoon, and had only dispersed at eleven o'clock that night. Even now he could see remnants of the mist lingering in the air outside.

Why would Lyell drive out during a night like this? It was madness, close to suicide. A driver wouldn't be able to see even three feet ahead of him in the mist, and on a swerving country road… Paton shuddered. Surely Lyell had sense enough not to drive in such weather.

'I'm worried, Paton,' Amy said. 'It's midnight and Lyell is still not home. I rang his mother, but she slammed the phone down the moment she knew it was me. I rang his aunts as well, but they all did the same thing. Eustacia even told me not to call again.' Indignation was clear in her voice. 'I only wanted to know if they'd seen him.'

It was just like his sisters to be so rude and callous, Paton thought. His fingers clenched instinctively into fists, itching to punch his sisters' faces and topple their condescending attitudes. They had treated Amy like dirt from the moment she came into their lives, just because she was not an endowed descendant of the Red King. It wasn't fair at all. Lyell and Amy loved each other, and that was what mattered most. Not her bloodline or anything else.

Amy had a right to know where her husband was. Paton frowned, deep in thought. It was concerning that Lyell had not contacted his wife, or even Paton, for that matter. If he was staying the night at Grizelda's, he would have told Amy. So what had happened?

'Oh, Paton, where could he be?' Amy said desolately. Paton could clearly picture her wringing her hands in dismay. 'Where could he have gone?'

Paton sighed. 'He could have stayed the night at Grizelda's, of course, or maybe he simply couldn't call. Phone reception's terrible in the countryside, and practically non-existent tonight because of the fog.'

'Of course,' Amy murmured. Paton could hear her fear and anxiety for Lyell in every word she spoke.

'I will call my sisters and try and find out more,' Paton told her. 'They may not answer to you, but they will to me. I'll ring you when I know what's going on.'

'Oh, Paton,' Amy let out a breathless sob. 'Thank you.'

'It's no difficulty,' he assured her. 'I'll get back to you soon, Amy.'

oOoOo

After Paton had disconnected, he did not call his sister straight away. There was much that coursed through his mind. Lyell. The cathedral. The elusive fog. Grizelda's sudden illness and summons. It was all very strange, indeed, and all too sudden to be a coincidence. Contrived, then? Possibly. But why?

His thoughts drifted to Lyell's request that morning. He had asked Paton, almost begged him, to come to the cathedral at midday. For what, he didn't say, only that there was an evil plan afoot that he had to stop somehow. Maybe that had something to do with this? Paton sighed. He had warned Lyell against interfering with the Bloors' plans.

'Nothing good could come of it,' he had said.

Lyell had been adamant. 'I must try. They are planning something terrible, Paton. I must stop it if I can. I can't keep my head down like you when I see all these things happening. I have to help.'

Paton shook his head. It was no use thinking of such things now. He had to find out where Lyell was. That was the most important thing. He grabbed the phone from its hook and dialled Grizelda's number.

There was no answer. Paton grunted in annoyance. Trust Grizelda. She always sought ways to annoy him. He punched in the numbers again. 'Come on,' he muttered. She had to be there!

Grizelda finally answered after the eighth ring. 'Who is it?' she snapped.

'Me,' Paton replied. 'Unfortunately.'

Grizelda sniffed; she didn't sound at all surprised. 'I suppose you're calling to ask about Lyell. That woman called some time ago. Eustacia told her to go away.'

'That woman is called Amy.' Paton could barely conceal the annoyance in his tone. 'And yes, that is why I am calling. Where is your son, Grizelda?'

'How should I know?' Grizelda said.

'You called him. You asked him to come to you.' Paton's voice was shaking. How could Grizelda be so heartless? It was beyond belief.

'Well, I never saw him.' Grizelda did not look the least bit worried about that. 'He never got here.'

'Ye gods, really?' Paton said angrily. 'And you're not in the least bit concerned about him?'

'Lyell broke the rules,' she said coldly. 'He deserves whatever he gets.'

Paton couldn't believe what he was hearing. 'He is your son,' he said. 'Doesn't that count for something?'

'Of course not!' Grizelda sniffed again, as if she couldn't believe what he was saying.

Paton ground his teeth. 'Expect me soon,' he bit out. 'I'm coming over tonight.' Without another word he slammed the phone down, shuddering. Conversations with his sister were never pleasant. They always left him with a cold feeling deep inside. Her insensitivity never failed to amaze him.

oOoOo

'What were you thinking?' Venetia Yewbeam glared fiercely at her eldest sister, hands placed firmly on her hips. When she had heard what had happened, she had driven immediately to Grizelda's country house, bursting through the front door in a fury. They had had a plan. A damn good one, to Venetia's mind. Lyell was supposed to crash his car into a quarry and be killed, eliminating a major threat to the Bloors' power. He was supposed to die, damn it! He deserved to die. But then her unendowed sister had to ruin it all, had to be led by her soft heart to tell the Bloors to spare Lyell. How could she do such a thing? It was unthinkable.

Grizelda stared back impassively from where she sat on her favourite rocking chair by the fireplace of her quaint home. She didn't care what Venetia thought. She had done what needed to be done. Lyell needed to be punished, but he didn't have to die. Somehow, Grizelda's heart froze at the thought of her son lying dead in the bottom of the quarry, as if it didn't matter that he had broken the rules and earned the ire of the Yewbeams and Bloors combined.

'How could you tell them to spare Lyell?' Venetia ranted. 'After all that trouble we went to, you just… waste it!'

'He is my son, Venetia,' Grizelda said tightly. 'I just can't have him dying, not on my watch.' She couldn't explain it; somehow a part of her wanted to give Lyell another chance. But that was impossible, of course. Lyell had broken the rules. He had to be punished.

'He broke the rules, Grizelda!' Venetia's tone was superior and haughty, and at the moment it drove Grizelda's head in. 'He deserved to die! He deserved to be eradicated, pulverised from the face of the earth! How could you?'

Each word Venetia spoke drove a dagger into Grizelda's heart. She gritted her teeth. Venetia would never understand. She had to save Lyell; he was her son! Venetia had never had children, and didn't know the feelings a mother had for her child. Even if that child had deserved what he got. 'Enough!' she snapped. 'You mind your own business. What's done is done.'

Venetia flushed and looked away, anywhere but at her sister. 'Ezekiel wanted him dead,' she muttered sullenly.

Grizelda frowned at that. She'd had a hard time convincing the old fool to keep Lyell alive. He had wanted vengeance for the blow Lyell had dealt him at the cathedral, a blow which had crippled him for life. A loss of one's self was punishment enough, she had told him. Lyell was totally vulnerable now. His life was in their hands; they could do whatever they wanted with him. Ezekiel had acquiesced, eventually.

She smiled grimly. With one look from his pitch-black eyes, nine-year-old Manfred Bloor had erased every single memory Lyell had, putting him under for life. It was a fitting punishment. Lyell had no clue who he was now, had no recollection of the life he had left behind. He was even more helpless than Ezekiel, in a way. A short, choked laugh bubbled up her throat. An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth. Manfred Bloor was more powerful than she had given him credit for.

'He's been thoroughly punished already,' she said aloud.

'It serves him right, I suppose,' Venetia said nastily. 'He shouldn't have interfered at the cathedral. But it doesn't matter now. The girl is ours.' Her face contorted into a sickly sweet smile of triumph. 'And Lyell Bone is gone, gone forever.'

Yes, Grizelda thought. She tried to still the fierce ache in her chest, and swallow back the lump in her throat. He broke the rules, she told herself. He deserved this fate. It doesn't matter that he's my only son. For a long moment, she sat rigidly in her chair, trying to force the mixture of emotions from her heart.

After what seemed like hours, Venetia broke the silence. 'I still think he should have died,' she said. 'What if he wakes up?'

The thought chilled Grizelda. It would be disastrous for the Bloors if Lyell were to wake up and reveal where he hid the pearl-inlaid box that contained Maybelle's will. It would mean the end of all that they had worked for for so long, the end of the enormous wealth the Bloors enjoyed. Any chance Grizelda and her sisters had of having a share in the immense Bloor fortune would be gone if Lyell remembered who he was. That couldn't, shouldn't be allowed to happen.

'He won't wake up,' Grizelda said in such a deadly voice the Venetia took a step back. 'Ever. We'll make sure of it.'

oOoOo

They found him kneeling at the edge of the pit, staring out into the quarry which had consumed his car: three strangers who seemed familiar but who he had no recollection of meeting before. There was a burly bald man who grinned maliciously at him, a middle aged man who looked at him with accusations in his eyes, and a young boy with eyes like fiery coal. The boy stared at him, and he found himself going with them, back to the city and the forbidding dark fortress which they called Bloor's Academy.

They told him he was a piano teacher who worked at the Academy, and he didn't have the will to question it. They christened him Mr Pilgrim, because he couldn't tell them what his real name was; he had no clue about anything at all anymore. They locked him in the Music Tower, and though they said it was for his own protection, he knew the truth—that he was a prisoner in this dark building, to be kept hidden from the real world.

What he didn't understand was _why_.

oOoOo

The pit of water was a deadly chasm in Paton's vision, murky and silent amid the cries of the birds and the rustling of the trees. He couldn't pull his eyes from it. The car was a barely recognisable wreck lying beneath the surface. Its once sleek body was now crushed and folded within itself, its blue paint faded and scratched from being in the water for more than a day. Paton was thoroughly sickened by the sight, but he couldn't look away from what remained of his dearest friend.

Paton had accompanied the police to the scene of the accident, despite his aversion to daylight. He felt he owed it to both Amy and Lyell to try and discover Lyell's fate, even if it meant going out during the day. Certainly, his sisters would never tell Amy anything about this, so it was up to Paton to do so. For hours he had stood there at the edge of the quarry, peering into its depths as the police searched the area and dredged the quarry, hoping that he would not have to be the bringer of bad news, that Lyell had somehow survived the accident. When the smashed blue car was towed to the surface, however, Paton's hopes were dashed.

The police presumed Lyell dead, though no body could be found in the wreckage. The quarry was over a hundred meters deep, much too deep for a man to climb out of. He would have drowned in the freezing waters, or died from the injuries he sustained in the initial crash. He couldn't have survived. Paton's heart ached. Amy would be devastated; she had thought the world of Lyell. How could he tell her that her husband was never coming home? Paton could hardly believe it himself. Lyell had been so full of life that it was difficult to think of him as dead.

Grizelda had refused to come with them, claiming she couldn't bear it and would only get in the way. The police had swallowed that, but Paton didn't believe a word of it. Grizelda didn't care a smidgen for her missing son; she had disowned him, had turned her back on him after he had wed Amy and refused to side with the Bloors in the centuries-long fight between the descendants of the Red King. Why would she worry about him now? She was probably relieved that he was gone. He had certainly been a thorn in her side, from her point of view. Eustacia, Venetia and Lucretia had stayed with her, to support her, they said. Paton didn't believe that either. They were probably planning their next horrendous act, whatever that could be, or were celebrating Lyell's demise. Paton's blood boiled at their indifference and coldness.

Paton gazed at the swirling waters, lost in thought. Lyell had been the best man he had ever known, or ever would know. He would never know how Lyell survived his dismal childhood at Yewbeam Castle, a place that still evoked terrible memories for Paton. When Paton had first met Lyell, he had expected him to be a brainwashed supporter of Yolanda and the Bloors, Lyell having grown up around that hag and her cronies. He couldn't have been more wrong. Lyell had befriended Paton, despite Paton's unusual habits and anti-social behaviour, and had genuinely liked and looked up to him, something which had surprised Paton. No one else had dared talk to the solitary forbidding dark man with the strange endowment.

Their friendship had meant everything to Paton. He had had no true close friends before Lyell.

Paton bowed his head. All his life, he had kept his head down, thinking it safer, wanting to avoid trouble for himself. He had never involved himself in the fight between the descendants of the Red King, on either the good side or the bad. Lyell had never been like that. He had always wanted to defeat the Bloors once and for all, and never cared about risk to himself. 'Why?' Paton had once asked him. 'Why bother, since they are so powerful?' Lyell had just said, 'For my family, and the memory of the Red King.'

Paton shuddered, despising himself for his cowardice and selfishness. He should have put his head up for once in his life, should have gone with Lyell to the cathedral to confront the Bloors, should have taken the time to meet with him and speak to him. But he had been too afraid, too caught up in his work to even try to go. He had kept his head down, and in doing so he had failed his dearest friend. Oh, Lyell, forgive me, he thought. I should have been there for you. And then he couldn't stop the tears from trickling down his cheeks, or restrain the sobs that racked his chest. I should have been a better friend. I should have helped him.

Lost in his grief, Paton started when he felt a firm hand grip his arm. He glanced up to see a young policeman gazing at him in a concerned way. 'We're just about done here,' the man said. 'We'll be returning to the station shortly. I can give you a ride back to your sister's place, seeing as you didn't bring your car.'

Paton nodded listlessly, offering his thanks, and the policeman strode away, shaking his head at the bleakness in Paton's eyes. He had seen his fair share of death and grief in the time he had been in the police force, and this was no different. Death was death. Its impact never lessened, especially on those left behind.

oOoOo

Amy clutched the phone with trembling fingers, the words tightening around her throat like an icy fetter. 'There was a fog… he was driving too fast, ran into a quarry… the car plunged over the edge… didn't find a body…' She could barely stand to hear it, and yet she was grateful to Paton for telling her. She needed to hear this, to have closure, no matter how much it pained her to hear the words.

For almost a day, she had wondered and waited, hoping against hope that Lyell was alive and would come back to her. Now all her hopes were shattered by the grief in Paton's voice, the undeniable truth. Lyell was dead. Her Lyell, who had defied his entire family to marry her, who she loved with her entire heart and soul. It seemed impossible, but it appeared to be true. Lyell was dead, and was not coming back to her.

Amy could feel the grief bubble in her, rising higher and higher until she thought she would drown in it. Lyell, oh Lyell! She heard Paton's voice trickling from the receiver against her ear, but she couldn't for the life of her respond. If she spoke now, she would lose whatever dignity she had left.

'Amy? Do you want me to come over?' It was a generous offer, for Paton rarely left his house during daylight. His unusual endowment—boosting the power of electricity in lights—prevented it.

Amy swallowed. 'No,' she whispered. 'Thank you. I will call Maisie.'

Paton hesitated, and then said, 'Alright. But know that if you need anything, you can just call me.'

His generosity brought tears to her eyes. Through it all, he had supported her and Charlie, making sure they were wanting for nothing, and did everything he could to find her husband. He was Lyell's uncle and dear friend, and she knew she could trust him. Lyell had trusted him completely. 'You have done so much already, Paton. Lyell couldn't have asked for a better uncle and friend.'

'I know,' Paton said curtly.

A silence on the other end of the line told her that he had hung up. Slowly she placed the receiver on its hook, and turned away, trying to still the hysterical grief that was flooding her heart.

Paton had vowed to give her anything she needed or wanted, whether it was a friend or supplies or money. But the only thing she wanted was Lyell. She wanted to see him come through the door alive and whole. She wanted to feel his lips against her hair, the steady beat of his heart as she leaned against his chest. She wanted to hear the music rise like velvet beneath his fingertips as he played the piano, and his joyful laughter as they played with Charlie. What was the point of such a promise if it couldn't give her what she wanted most in the world?

oOoOo

Maisie burst into the living room of Diamond Corner, took one look at Amy's pale, wan face and gathered her into a tight embrace. 'Oh, you poor thing!' she drew back to gaze sternly at her daughter. 'Everything will be alright, you hear?'

How could everything be alright when Lyell was dead? Amy pictured the large pit of water that Paton had described to her, far in the forest, and envisioned the small blue car plummeting into its depths. He would have drowned in the freezing water, if he hadn't died from the final impact. She could almost see his pale, lifeless face staring at her, eyes fixed and blank.

She barely felt Maisie shaking her, speaking to her in urgent tones. She felt limp, numb. Lifeless. As if somehow she had gone over the edge with Lyell. And then she felt a firm hand slap her cheek, and she blinked in surprise to see Maisie looming over her, glaring at her.

'Now, pull yourself together!' her mother snapped. 'You can't go on like this. You have Charlie to think of, you know.'

Charlie. Amy grasped at that, let it pull her from wherever she had been. She had to look after Charlie, for Lyell's sake, and her own. Who knew, the boy could just turn out to be endowed, like so many of Lyell's family. The Yewbeams had to know that. If he showed any supernatural gifts at all they would take him away, try to make him use his talent for whatever evil thing they were trying to do. She wouldn't, couldn't let them do that. She had to protect Charlie from the Yewbeam's influence somehow.

'Charlie,' she whispered. It was all she could say; her throat was as numb as ice.

Maisie patted her arm. 'That's right. Charlie needs you. Don't you dare zone out and leave him alone!'

'Lyell…' Amy began, but couldn't finish. To speak of it made it real, and Amy desperately didn't want it to be real.

'I know,' Maisie said kindly. 'But it's over now. Lyell's gone. He wouldn't want to go to pieces over it. He would want you to be happy.'

'How?' she croaked out. 'I loved Lyell so much; I don't know what I will do without him. He was the best part of my life.'

'I know,' Maisie said gently.

'And… and Lyell had all the money. He paid for everything; I was too poor to. I don't have anything. The Yewbeams took control of Lyell's account, and they will never give me any of his money.' She was rambling, almost hysterical, but she didn't care. Her life was crashing before her. She—and Charlie—couldn't survive without any financial patronage.

'Paton promised to lend aid, but even he wouldn't dare to go against his own family. What will I do?'

Maisie took her hand and squeezed it. 'Amy, I don't have much money myself, you know that, but I promise I will give you any money I am able to give.'

Amy felt a reluctant smile stretch across her face. 'Thank you, Maisie. So much. I don't know what I would do without you.'

Maisie squeezed her hand again. 'Don't worry. Everything will be fine, you'll see. You and Charlie can come live with me. I've room enough to spare.'

Tears sprang into the corners of Amy's eyes. Though her mother was almost as penniless as she was, she was still willing to help her daughter and her grandson. It humbled her to witness such love and sacrifice.

'Thank you,' she said, her throat tight. 'Will you be going back home?' Secretly she quailed at the thought of being alone now, in the house she had shared with her husband.

'No,' Maisie said. 'I think I'll sleep the night here, if you don't mind. I'm afraid if I leave you alone for long you'll retreat into yourself again, and then what will happen to poor Charlie?'

Amy couldn't express the profound relief she felt at those words. If she was left alone, surely she would drown as Lyell had. Maisie gazed at her with compassion in her eyes, as if she understood what Amy was feeling.

'I won't leave you alone for a second, Amy. For as long as you need me, I'll be here.'

'Thank you,' Amy whispered.

oOoOo

Much to Amy's surprise, the problem of money was solved much easier than she had expected, and without Maisie's help.

On a cloudless and sunny day, Grizelda Bone stopped to pay a visit at Diamond Corner. Her sharp knock was sudden and unexpected, startling Amy as she spoon-fed her son his breakfast in the kitchen with Maisie's help. Hurriedly she laid the spoon carefully against a plate and ran to the door, leaving Maisie to take over the arduous trial of feeding. Grizelda Bone was not one to be kept waiting for long.

Why would Lyell's mother pay her daughter-in-law a visit now? Amy pondered that question as she opened the door to reveal Mrs Bone's rake-thin figure standing sourly on the doormat, hands crossed over her chest in impatience. She had never approved of Lyell's marriage to Amy and had always been dismissive towards the younger woman, resenting that her son had dared 'break the rules' and marry one of the unendowed. She had always made it clear that she would have no association with Amy. So what could she want now?

Her question was answered as soon as the older woman stepped through the front door. Grizelda Bone turned to Amy. 'I want to see the boy.'

Amy flushed at the rudeness of her tone, the obvious dislike in it. 'Charlie's having breakfast now. Perhaps…'

'I want to see him now, girl.' Mrs Bone glared at her. 'Is that too hard to understand?'

'No,' Amy sighed. 'Of course.' She bit her lip to contain her irritation and dismay. It was just like Lyell's mother to visit at the most awkward times.

Amy showed Grizelda into the kitchen, keeping her face expressionless as the woman glanced critically around the room. It was the first time Grizelda had been to Diamond Corner. She was bound to find something to complain about. Amy personally thought it was a comfortable, cheery space. She and Lyell had thought out the design together. From Grizelda's sniff, she had already found fault with it.

Amy led Grizelda to where Maisie was spoon-feeding Charlie at the kitchen table. When Maisie saw them approach she dropped the spoon into the bowl and stood up awkwardly from where she knelt beside the high chair Charlie was strapped into. Mrs Bone pointedly ignored Maisie and scrutinized Charlie, from his unruly brown hair to the dimples on his smiling cheeks.

'He's healthy,' Mrs Bone said grudgingly, after a moment. 'And clean. But too exuberant for my liking. Children should be soon and not heard. And his hair! But what would you expect of a Welshman?' She sniffed in disapproval.

Amy ducked her head to hide the crimson stain spreading through her cheeks. Maisie put in proudly, 'Charlie's a good boy,' earning a frown from Mrs Bone which she ignored.

'We have come to a decision,' Mrs Bone said grandly, after five minutes' awkward silence. 'We Yewbeams have heard of your financial troubles, Amy. And we are willing to help you.'

Overwhelming relief swept through Amy, and she had to grip a chair to stop herself from swaying. They were truly willing to support herself and Charlie! It was a miracle, a dream come true. She had half-expected the Yewbeams to cast them out onto the streets.

'We will pay for Lyell's funeral, of course,' Grizelda continued. 'You, Maisie and Charlie will of course sit with us during the requiem mass, as his wife, mother-in-law and son.' She sounded as if she were conferring a great honour upon them that they didn't deserve. 'We will provide a house for you to live in, and Maisie may move in as well if she prefers. You will want for nothing.'

Amy's joy was so fierce she couldn't hide the stammer in her voice. 'Th—thank you! Thank you so much. I was so worried about the money… and Charlie…'

Grizelda looked gratified at Amy's reaction. 'Did you think we would abandon Lyell's family in a time of grief? Charlie is my grandson, and has Yewbeam blood. We will do what you can to help you care for him. We are doing this out of the kindness of our hearts, you know.'

She swept out of the house, then, both Amy and Maisie breathing a sigh of relief at her departure.

'Well, that's done,' Amy said. 'We're safe.' She couldn't disguise her enormous relief. She and Charlie would survive. They would have money. It meant more to Amy than she could possibly say.

Maisie snorted. 'Those Yewbeams! They have some nerve, coming in here and insulting us like that.'

'But they'll help us, Maisie. That's what's important.'

'Hmmph!' Maisie said. 'Out of the goodness of their hearts! They're only doing it because of Charlie. They think he might be endowed.' The look on her face suggested that she hoped he wasn't. Maisie had not adjusted as well as Amy had to the knowledge that there were descendants of the Red King with magical powers. She preferred to ignore it.

Amy chose not to hear Maisie's suspicions. She didn't care about the Yewbeams' motives, as long as they agreed to help her and Charlie. Nothing else mattered, except the terrible fact that Lyell was dead. Hiding a shudder, Amy bowed her head, so Maisie wouldn't see the tears in her eyes.

oOoOo

Grizelda Bone sat in stony silence in the front pew of the cathedral, between Venetia and Eustacia, who both could not stop smiling tiny secretive smiles and nudging each other. She wanted to tell them to stop it, for they were supposed to be grieving for Lyell, but she couldn't make herself move an inch. Lyell broke the rules. She kept on telling herself that, again and again, but it failed to dispel the sickness in her heart. Lyell had broken the rules, but she wished he hadn't.

From where she sat at the edge of the pew, Amy clutched at Maisie's firm warm hand, and tried to still the wriggling figure of her son on her lap. Her head was pounding, aching with the grief she sought to suppress. She could feel the tears trickling down her cheeks, wet and salty, at the rich harmony of music echoing around the cathedral.

Lyell would have loved this song, Amy thought numbly. He would have enjoyed it, and created a copy of it so that he could play it himself. She could imagine his capable fingers touching the keys, letting them fly with a dreamy smile. For a moment, as she stared at the organist playing she could almost think and hope it was Lyell, but then she blinked and the vision was gone, and she remembered that Lyell was dead and not coming back to her. And she felt the tide of grief sweep over her, and nothing, not even her mother and her son, could bring her back.

Paton Yewbeam bowed his head, blinded by tears he had no right to unleash. It was as Bartholomew Bloor had said, as they stood outside in the cathedral square, bitter and enraged at each other and the world. It was his fault that Lyell was dead, his fault that Amy was a widow. It was his fault that Charlie would grow up without knowing his father. If he had only gone with Lyell to the cathedral, had kept in more contact with him, then Lyell would not have died in that accident. Paton could have stopped him from driving out into the fog that night, could have counselled him against confronting the Bloors.

'You're a bit of a ninny, aren't you, Paton?' Bartholomew's words reverberated in his mind, snide and bitter with loathing. 'You could have helped him, but you didn't. And now a good man is gone.'

Bartholomew's words were never truer. Paton swallowed hard, almost choking on the sob he sought to restrain.

'Forgive me, Lyell,' he whispered. 'I have been a terrible friend.'

At the back of the cathedral, among the onlookers and mourners that were not part of the Yewbeam and Bone families, Rufus Raven stood with his wife, Ellen. His expression was like stone, except for his eyes, which were flooded with grief for the friend he had trusted and loved more than anyone else in the world besides Ellen.

Gazing out into the cathedral, he could see Lyell's young widow, Amy, sitting in the front pew, her body shaking, convulsing, unable to be comforted. He could see Lyell's young son, Charlie, bawling in confusion, alarmed by his mother's grief. He could see Lyell's mother and aunts sitting silently together, impassive. This was how they punished people, he thought bitterly. Lyell was a good man, the very best. He did not deserve to die as he had, in a car accident contrived by the Bloors.

It was his fault, Rufus knew. It was he who had given the pearl-inlaid box to Lyell, who had made him swear to guard it with his life. 'It contains something precious beyond words,' he had told his friend. 'Something that the Bloors want destroyed at all costs. It must be kept safe.' Ellen had felt it as Sally had given it to them on their wedding day; a precious, vital something in that box that made her pause and wonder. They didn't know what was in there, of course, for the box was locked tightly and could not be pried open. They just knew that whatever it was, it was very, very important.

Lyell had agreed, much to Rufus' surprise. Perhaps because it meant defying the Bloors. The Bloors had somehow found out about it, and had targeted Lyell. Lyell, who had been like a brother to Rufus. Rufus shuddered. How could the Bloors do this? How could they callously throw away a life as if it were nothing? How could they live with such terrible acts on their conscience?

Ellen's hand squeezed his tightly in compassionate understanding. He glanced at her, and felt his face soften. Ellen's eyes were red-rimmed and anxious, but there was an inner strength in them that comforted him, bolstered him. 'It'll be all right,' she said, her voice trembling.

'How?' Rufus said hoarsely. 'Lyell is dead. The friend I trusted most in the world, who I asked to guard that cursed box. He is dead because of it. And we are alone.'

'We have each other,' Ellen said bravely. 'And we will escape them somehow. We'll take little Billy far away from here, where no one will harm him or us. The Bloors will never find us.'

Rufus could feel the hurt and anger build up inside of him, ready to burst, when all of a sudden it drained away, leaving only a deep exhaustion. He pressed a kiss to Ellen's cheek, his heart aching. 'I pray you are right, my love,' he said. 'I do hope you are right.'

oOoOo

Each day, as the cathedral clock tolled twelve, he could feel forgotten memories stir deep inside him. For a moment, he could see an image of a beautiful brown-haired woman holding a baby in her arms and smiling at him, her eyes lighting up. He felt as if he should know her, somehow, but he had no recollection of her at all. Who was she, and what did she mean to him that his heart would ache when he saw her face? He tried to remember, but it all slipped away too soon, and he was left with nothing but a strange sense of loss.

Sometimes the nine year old boy with eyes like coal visited, and asked questions with his strange penetrating stare. Where is the box? Where did you put it? Tell me! And though he tried, he couldn't for the life of him recall what the boy wanted him to. It infuriated the boy, he could see, and the old, old man in a wheelchair who sometimes came to the Music Tower and gloated, for reasons unknown to him. He had no idea what box they were talking about, and wondered why they wanted it so badly. What could this box contain that was so important?

oOoOo

Amy was glad when Maisie chose to move to Number Nine Filbert Street with her and little Charlie. She had actually been a trifle afraid of living in the same house as her formidable mother-in-law. She didn't want to face her alone; she knew she wouldn't have the courage to resist her like Maisie would.

'Do you really think I'd leave you at the mercy of that horrible woman?' Maisie said when Amy expressed her immense gratitude. 'She doesn't have any love in her at all. Charlie'll need both of us, mark my words. There's no one else who'll love him and look after him properly.'

'There's Paton,' she reminded her mother. For Paton was moving in as well, having agreed to jointly pay for the house with Grizelda. He claimed it was because he felt he needed a change, but Amy suspected it was because he had nowhere else to go.

'Paton!' Maisie snorted. 'What kind of parental figure could he be? He rarely leaves his room, and never goes out in daylight. You'd think he was a vampire, the way he acts!'

'Paton's a good person,' Amy said quietly. 'It's only because of his gift that he never goes out during the day. They're not all bad, Maisie. He did helped us when Lyell first went missing.'

Maisie huffed. 'I know, Amy. But I'm saying, Paton won't be any help at all where Charlie's concerned. And it's hard to think of any of them as decent people, no matter how hard I try.'

Though she had to agree with Maisie on that point, Amy was grateful to the Yewbeams for everything they had done for herself and Charlie. After all, they could have taken Charlie from her and cast her and Maisie out onto the streets, but they hadn't. They paid for everything: the house, the funerary costs and all the bills, and though Maisie kept claiming that it was because of Charlie and his possible endowment, Amy couldn't help but be glad.

That was, until the pictures disappeared.

One day, exactly three months after Lyell's death, Amy returned from her shift at the grocery store to find them all gone. Even the one in her locket which she had cherished especially after the accident. Every single photo frame with Lyell in them was stripped bare, as if someone wanted every remnant of him gone from the face of the earth.

Amy could only stare numbly, her breath coming out in short bursts. There was nothing left, not a single photo to remember her husband by. It was too cruel, to leave her with nothing at all. But then they were Yewbeams. They knew a lot about cruelty.

Amy wanted to sink onto the floor and weep, but knew it would be useless. The photos were gone, and nothing could bring them back. Instead, she stumbled into her bedroom, lay on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, and wondered. Who could have taken the photos? Not Maisie, of course, she was above suspicion. Paton? Possibly, but he never left his room during daylight and had loved her husband dearly as a friend. Why would he choose to take away anything that would remind him of Lyell?

And then there was Grandma Bone, as the household had come to think of Grizelda as. Though she was Lyell's mother, she didn't seem to have an ounce of love for him, and never mourned his loss as Amy and Paton had. As soon as Amy thought of her, she knew she had found the culprit. But why on earth would Grizelda Bone decide to steal every photo of her dead son from the house? It didn't make sense. Amy mused like this, and soon found herself drifting off. Yawning, she closed her eyes, and slept.

She was awakened by the sound a door slamming shut somewhere on the floor below her bedroom, followed by raised voices. Bleary-eyed, she climbed out of her bed and ran into the hall. Whatever could be happening? Peering down the staircase, she could see Grandma Bone glaring daggers at Paton's bedroom door and hissing, 'Don't you dare blame me! I had nothing to do with it!' before stomping into her bedroom and slamming the door shut.

Amy retreated to her bedroom. She didn't want to be downstairs when Grandma Bone was in a mood, even if she had shut herself up in her bedroom. She lay back on her bed, and thought about the argument. It had to be about the photos. It was the only thing Paton would be so pent up about. It looked like Paton had come to the same conclusion that she had: that Grandma Bone had taken the photographs. Neither of them could prove it, however, without Grandma Bone's confession.

Amy shuddered. How could Grizelda Bone do such a thing? Lyell was her own son. How could she choose to callously throw away the last things she had of him?

Lyell meant nothing to her, Amy thought. She had only ever thought of him as a disappointment, as useless to her, because he turned out to be unendowed, though he had an amazing talent as a pianist. Once Lyell decided to marry Amy, his mother had disowned him and turned against him, furious that she could not make him do what she wanted him to do. And now that he was dead, Grandma Bone would rather have him be forgotten, as if he were an unfortunate episode that had passed. Fury burned in Amy's heart at the thought, and she had to clench her fists to keep from crying out.

Lyell may not have meant anything to his mother, but he meant something to Amy. He was the best man she had ever known, the man she had loved and chosen to marry. He had been the very best part of her life, and a part of her still didn't know what she would do without him. He had meant everything to her, and she would not let him be forgotten.

Slowly, Amy reached into the pocket of her skirt and drew out the diamond wedding ring Lyell had given her long ago. It sparkled dimly in the fading light, and it was almost as if it was winking at her. She hadn't worn it since the night of the accident; it had been too painful to even look at it. Now, she slid it on the third finger of her left hand.

She would hold this ring close, Amy decided. She would remember Lyell and everything she'd loved about him: the beautiful music he created with his fingers, the love he had for her and Charlie, and the joy with which he had lived his life. She would never, ever forget him.

Smiling softly, Amy left her room and walked downstairs, the diamond ring twinkling on her left hand.

oOoOo

Far away, in a lone tower in Bloor's Academy, a man ran his fingers across a piano, trying to remember what he had lost. He felt stronger somehow; he could see the face of the kind-faced woman more easily, though he had no idea who she was or why he was imagining her. He felt more grounded, as if something had steadied him.

One night, he dreamed. He dreamed he was with a beautiful woman with golden-brown hair, sitting together in a pew in a huge cathedral, holding hands. He said something, close to her ear, smiling tenderly, and she responded by kissing him deeply on the lips. There was laughter and joy and tears, and when he woke up, though he couldn't remember the dream at all, her name was on his lips. Amy.

And though he had no memory of hearing it before, and he would eventually forget it, it struck a chord deep inside of him. And for a moment he smiled, recollecting, before he was pushed down again into ignorance.


End file.
